The Ones That We Guide
by Raven of the Noldor
Summary: Steve knows that Bucky is out there somewhere.


**Y'all are really lucky to get this. My Internet's been bad for a week now, so I'm glad I was able to get this out! **

**This is a companion to my story _Citizen Soldier_, only from Steve's point of view. It's not as long, but I hope y'all enjoy it!**

**The title is yet again from C_itizen_ _Soldier_ by 3 Doors Down.**

Out of the two of them, Sam really was better at knowing what a good apartment was. He had insisted on it, saying that, "If we're gonna go find Bucky, then we need a good place to bring him to."

Steve had agreed to that easily enough, and the apartment, in Brooklyn, had been purchased. It's beautiful – a three bedroom place with a kitchen and living room. The walls are a light blue and in some rooms, beige, and there are big windows to let in as much light as possible.

They spend more time there then Steve had expected – after searching D.C. and Brooklyn, a lot of time was spent simply discarding places Bucky _wouldn't _be.

They still look – but with S.H.I.E.L.D. in shambles and the other Avengers scrambling to salvage what they can, it's much less time then Steve would like to spend looking for Bucky.

They have Tony to be thankful for. The billionaire had worked with JARVIS to get all the S.H.I.E.L.D intel off the Internet before too much damage was done. He had then pulled as much information as he could find on Bucky and the Winter Soldier and given it to them.

The look on his face suggested that he had looked at the files and didn't like what he had seen.

Now, a month later, as June begins, Steve is getting restless.

"Calm _down_, man." Sam doesn't look up from his newspaper. Steve stops fidgeting for the moment. "We aren't going to find him if you can't stay still long enough to think."

"I know," Steve sighs, picking up his book. He stares at it without seeing. 'But it's hard."

"There isn't much we can do right now, Steve. Not unless you want to search the alleys again."

"We need a better plan." Steve gets up and sidesteps around the coffee table to a drawer with different road maps. He pulls out a map of the United States. "Where _isn't_ he?"

Sam puts the paper aside. "It's been two weeks. He could be anywhere – But let's rule out Russia."

"Two weeks," Steve mutters. He spreads the map out on the table and gets out a pen. "So not Russia. He's not in N.Y.C., we have enough contacts to know that. And he's not in D.C. either." He lightly pencils over those three locations.

"He wouldn't want to stand out," Sam adds, tapping the map with his index finger. "So let's say not Africa or Asia, for the moment. We can revise that as need be."

"So that rules out two continents. What now, a city by city search?"

"Maybe. Or we could wait for him to come to us."

Steve nods absently. That's looking more and more like their best option.

* * *

Two weeks pass and they cross Chicago and Boston of their list. Sam convinces him to take his birthday off. "Two days, man. We can go down and visit my family for the Fourth, and then search a little more of the South while we're there."

Steve agrees.

* * *

They drive to Georgia, Steve driving, Sam talking about his nieces and nephews. "Wait," Steve says, "Does that make you Uncle Sam?"

Sam whips his head around, giving Steve what can only be described as a death glare. "Do _not_," he states jabbing a finger at Steve for emphasis, "Do_ not_, for one second, think that you can use that as blackmail material to endear my family to you."

"Really," Steve teases, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were sensitive about that name."

"Eyes on the road, Rogers," Sam grumbles.

When they reach Sam's hometown, they switch positions and Sam navigates the town with ease. There are red, white, and blue decorations everywhere, flags hanging from porches and windows. Sam hums national anthem under his breath, and masterfully switches to the Star Spangled Man With a Plan as he turns onto a side street, a gaggle of children of all skin shades scattering out of the street where they are playing a game.

"Stop," Steve begs. Sam smirks.

Sam parks the car, opens the car door and climbs out, stretching and popping his back. "It's good to be home!" he exclaims. Steve squeezes his bigger frame out and rolls his shoulders.

Sam's family home is a brick and wood two-story, the wood painted a soft blue, with flowers on both sides of the path. Sam nods to the fence. "Come on around, everyone's in the back."

Steve follows him around to a gate, cracked open a bit. "Watch out for the cat," Sam warns. "Riley's a bit unpredictable if you get too close to him." He pushes the gate open.

"Uncle Sam," a young voice shouts, and a boy races across the lawn to them. Sam laughs and gives him a hug. "You grew, kiddo!"

Steve smiles. He can see how much Sam cares about his family. How he'd do anything for them.

He glances up as someone else approaches – and freezes. This isn't one of Sam's family members. No, this is a member of his own family. "Bucky?" he whispers, afraid that this isn't real.

"Hi Steve," Bucky – because it is Bucky – whispers, ducking his head a bit. Steve doesn't think before enveloping his friend, his _brother_ in a hug. Bucky's arms come up to mirror Steve's own, one flesh, the other metal.

"Happy birthday, Stevie," Bucky mumbles, leaning his head against Steve's shoulder.

And Steve knows that things are looking up.


End file.
